“In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” –Albert Camus
As a child, I was fortunate to have parents who allowed me to explore the world on my own terms. Perhaps they recognized the value of unstructured outdoor play, or maybe they just needed some peace and quiet. Either way, I cherished the freedom.
One of my favorite memories is of a playground near my dad’s childhood home in Georgia. There was this quirky metal merry-go-round that we transformed into a wild game called “flying monkeys.” The objective? To see who could jump the farthest while spinning around.
How to play flying monkeys:
- Crouch down in the center of a ’70s-style merry-go-round, roughly the size of a Jazzercise trampoline.
- Enlist your friends to spin it as fast as they can.
- When they shout “GO!”, try to stand up and resist being pulled back down.
- As you reach the edge, let centrifugal force launch you off into the air.
- Avoid the metal animals meant for sitting and leap as far as you can!
If that sounds improbable, it was! We often ended up tumbling off or needing an emergency stop, but the giggles and laughter were worth it.
After our merry-go-round antics, we turned our attention to the wild surroundings. The nearby woods were a dense maze of kudzu vines and poison ivy, but thankfully, the creek remained untouched. We would march down to the water, ready for real adventures.
The creek was where our creativity flourished. We molded red clay into shapes, which often ended up resembling either rock-hard sculptures or, well, not-so-great dog droppings. We jumped between banks and splashed in the cool water. When we got bored of trying to catch elusive water spiders, we dared to explore the ominous culvert leading to the other side.
The thrill of entering that slimy tunnel is unforgettable. I’d relive the fear and exhilaration in a heartbeat. The contrast of the blazing Georgia sun to the cold, damp darkness was shocking. My toes gripped the metal rungs as we cautiously made our way through. Once we emerged, our hearts raced from the adventure, and we eagerly continued our exploration downstream. Honestly, I can’t recall what lay beyond the culvert—just the pure thrill of adventure was enough.
Reflecting on those times, I don’t remember my dad ever checking on us. I admire his ability to let us roam freely. He probably thought we couldn’t get into too much trouble right in our neighborhood. After all, we weren’t trekking miles into the wilderness, but as a ten-year-old, it felt plenty adventurous.
Going back a generation, the freedom my parents had was even more expansive. My dad often reminisces about riding his bike to school in first grade, navigating a busy intersection, something that seems unfathomable today. Even further back, my grandmother shared tales of building huts with her siblings in the 1930s, where her parents allowed her to spend the night without worrying about scorpions or strangers lurking around.
Now, as I think about the small circle of trust I’ve given my children, it’s hard to believe kids once had such freedom. Even as I strive to raise free-range kids, I feel the limits tightening.
Recently, I signed my kids up for a summer camp that I attended as a child, where I returned as a counselor for the past couple of summers. It’s my bright spot amid the dreary New England winter. However, I’ve noticed a shift towards more “helicoptering” in the camp environment. Children are now expected to check in with their exact locations during free time, which seems to zap away the sense of independence I once cherished.
Not me, though! I love the idea of my kids getting “lost” in a mud pit or wandering by the creek. As a counselor, I push the boundaries where I can, even if it means getting permission from three people before heading out with a group of kids. Packing a cell phone, a wilderness emergency kit, and a list of participants feels excessive, but the excitement of exploring the wild is timeless.
To the kids, it’s just as adventurous as my escapades two decades ago. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. After all, what happens at camp, stays at camp!
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Summary:
Reflecting on my childhood freedom, I aim to provide my kids with similar experiences. From wild playground games to adventures in nature, I cherish the moments of independence. As a counselor, I attempt to create these opportunities, despite the increasing tendency for oversight in today’s world.